


Wanna Start A Band?

by bankedleft



Category: Deadpool - All Media Types, Marvel, Marvel (Comics)
Genre: AU, AU Bands!, Alternate Universe, Good Guy Peter, M/M, Mercenary Wade, drummer!Peter, drummer!Wade, not successful musicians but small time, they arent super heroes they are musicians
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-06-18
Updated: 2016-07-11
Packaged: 2018-07-15 18:43:10
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 5
Words: 10,570
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7234225
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/bankedleft/pseuds/bankedleft
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>“Hey, you wanna start a band?”<br/>“How are two drummers going to start a band?”<br/>the AU where every body plays in small time bands around NYC</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Starts with a bad pick up line

**Author's Note:**

> yes! a band AU! badass, struggling, obscure musicians all trying to make it big. not the most romantic AU ever but i love it anyways and it plays well into the team oriented characters and how they all have individual, special skills.

“Hey, you wanna start a band?”

“How are two drummers going to start a band?”

Deadpool hadn’t thought that far. Or had he?

No. He hadn’t thought that far. But he is flattered that this guy knows who is and what he does right away. He uses the “wanna start a band” line as an ice breaker usually. Whenever he wants to hang out with someone at these gigs he just asks for a team up. 

Deadpool has perfected networking, so after a gig like this, where three or four bands play one after the other for a dedicated crowd on Saturday nights, he goes around and basically annoys the other guys until they let him play music with them.

These people don't know who Wade Wilson is but they like Deadpool’s drumming, especially after the show he just put on. He wears a stage mask to play, so while he still has it on he can talk to anyone he wants and they usually agree to meet up for musical business. They usually tolerate his off stage antics pretty well because low budget musicians are pretty desensitized to everything. He runs into trouble when he screws up on stage or isn’t professional enough during practices.

If he isn’t the best drummer in the New York alternative-underground-indie-whatever-they-are scene, he is one of the best. But for every drop of talent and skill he has a bucket of unprofessionalism to go with it. This guy doesn’t know that yet, so Deadpool keeps talking.

“Dude, we could be a Blue Man Group except we wear masks!” Deadpool suggests.

“Oh, yeah. Like I would want to hide behind a mask,” the guys says. 

Deadpool has to agree with that, his face is far too pretty to warrant a mask. All the times he watched this guy drum he couldn’t be bothered to pay attention to anything besides how good he looked doing it.

“I assure you, putting on the mask was the best thing for my career and no I will not be taking it off,” Deadpool says.

The venue is still crowded but the last band finished up so most people milling around are getting ready to leave. But it’s only 11pm so most of these people aren’t going home, just somewhere else.

“Well, uh, my name’s Peter Parker.”

“Pool. Dead.”

“Wait, really?” Peter asks, “You’re not gonna tell me your real name?”

“If you ever meet me without the mask on, then I’ll introduce you to Mr. Wade Wilson. Until then,” he sticks out his hand, “I’m Deadpool.”

Peter shakes it firmly, holds what might be eye contact if not for the mask and laughs, “Well if you get your kit back out we can totally have, like, a drum off here. The owner is our guitarist so we were just going to stick around and jam. You can join us if you want.”

“What! Clint owns this venue?” Deadpool says referring to the lead guitarist Peter’s band, “We used to play together! He is a veteran though so it’s no wonder he owns this place. He used to call himself Hawkeye.”

“No, our other guitarist Tony does. And Clint still calls himself Hawkeye. Why would you ask me to start a band with you when you know I am happily engaged with another band,” Peter accuses, but smiles as he says it.

“Oh, boy. If Tony owns this place I am absolutely staying to kick your ass in a drum off,” Deadpool says, looking around to take in the low rafters, small stage, and huge garage doors of the venue. “But know this, Petey,” he continues, leaning in closer to Peter, “I am not above sharking talent from buddies. Hawkeye and I are buds but business is business.”

“Either way, it would never work between us,” Peter jokes, smiling at the fake seriousness that Deadpool has.

“I know, I doubt you could keep up with my rhythms anyways,” Deadpool says.

“Challenge accepted, Wade. It’s not about how fast, its about how good. And I am good,” Peter says.

“Petey Pie, let me set up my kit and we will settle this once and for all.”

Deadpool ducks out and unloads his drum kit from the van outside the garage doors, leaving Peter to stand alone in the back of the room and wonder what he just got himself into. Deadpool didn’t really plan to stay here and play more, but he did plan not to sleep tonight so this is technically still according to plan. 

As he brings his drums in piece by piece he can hear Peter now sitting at his own kit, still set up on stage, and explaining the plan to the other musicians sticking around. The crowd has disappeared now and only the performers remain, seated at various tables close to the stage. Some of them played tonight already, some just spectated.

Clint, Tony and Wanda from Peter’s band sit around a table ready to watch whatever was about to happen. Weasel from Deadpool’s band is hanging out with Natasha and Maria Hill. Maria is the manager for Natasha’s band. Natasha leans back to say something to Wanda who looks at the stage and smiles and nods.

Wanda calls out, “After the boys are done, Natasha and I want to have a bass battle.”

Weasel looks up at that prospect, but goes back to his discussion with Maria. He is probably trying to get a loan for some new gear or working out a deal to get him in a recording booth. Whatever it is, Maria and Weasel are too engrossed in the conversation to pay attention to the upcoming drum battle.

Deadpool calls back as he places his stool behind his newly assembled kit, “Black Widow’s on my team!”

“Still reliving the glory days, I see,” Natasha comments coldly on the nickname.

“Thats a good idea,” Peter interrupts before any old conflicts get hashed up, “Wanda or Natasha play a wicked baseline and we drum to that?”

Everybody knows everybody else in this particular just-starting-out music scene of New York, so even though neither of Wade nor Peter has been in a band with Natasha, they both know how good she is. Its best to stay on her good side, because even if you don’t like someone you still have to play nice because the more people you know, the better chance you have of actually making it in the industry.

“The bass challenge can determine round three, like the tie breaker,” Deadpool says from his drum set, “First round your choice, second round my choice, third round Black Widow’s choice.”

The rules are established and the drums are set up each on half of the stage. The rest of the interested musicians set up a quick betting system on who they think will win. There is a sizable amount of money bet on Natasha to win the third round.

Clint says to Peter, “Alright, Spider-Man. You’re up first. What’ll it be?”

“Your stage name is Spider-Man? That’s awesome!” Deadpool comments.

“Not really my name, but they call me Spider-Man because I drum like I have eight arms,” Peter says with a smile, “Let’s do solos back and forth.”

And Peter starts in. He starts slow ignoring the toms at first, only kick drum and high hat and snare. He establishes an 80s pop style beat and then deviates, bringing in the toms now and then establishing the same beat, then going away from it again, then he stays on beat with his left hand and plays an epic arhythmic solo with his right hand.

Deadpool takes in his form. Peter leaves his seat when hits the kick drum, he is already sweating from the effort. His white t-shirt clings to his shoulders and rest bounces heavily against his chest. Deadpool can tell the guy is in shape. Really good shape. He looks good drumming, is what Deadpool decides.

Deadpool reads his body language and after about 45 seconds he can tell Peter is about to make his last hit and hand it over to Deadpool. He anticipates this hit and makes it at the same time, one heavy blow to the snare drum, and runs away with the rhythm as Peter points his drum sticks at him to signal the exchange. Peter lowers his arm as he realized that Deadpool has already started.

Deadpool does not establish a rhythm at first. From the first snare hit he chases highs and lows across his kit creating enough tension in the sound so that when he finally makes a predictable beat the room will heave a sigh of relief. He picks up the tension even more as he picks up the pace. Just when he reaches what may be maximum tension, he lays into a rhythm for not even a measure before taking off again.

All the while he reads Peter’s face. Peter looks back at him pretty well astonished. Deadpool nods, communicating his intensions with Peter the best he can. Peter hears it Deadpool’s hits. He can hear the rhythm he created just minutes before aching to break out from Deadpool’s hits. Deadpool watches as Peter raises an eye brow, nods, and readies his drum sticks.

Deadpool smiles through his mask and raises his hand a bit higher than usual to come down hard on the snare and Peter makes the same hit. Then Peter is playing his iconic 80s pop rhythm and Deadpool is playing half that rhythm and half his own form, switching back and forth between the two. Then Peter comes down hard on the snare and Deadpool does too which punctuates the end of the round. Deadpool sweats underneath his mask and Peter smiles back at him.

“Deadpool wins that one, no contest. Peter, don’t let him boss you around up there!” Clint calls up to the stage as he collects his winnings for that round. 

Tony looks up from his phone just long enough to give a disapproving glare to the young drumming duo on stage. Wanda gives a small round of applause.

Maria calls up, “You are too predictable, Peter. He read you like a book.”

Weasel comments, “That was more like a drum together than a drum off. I wanna see blood.”

Peter defends himself by saying, “That was awesome though! I let him do that! We didn’t even practice that and it was near perfect.”

“Yeah, Spidey, teamwork makes the dream work!” Deadpool says glowing from his victory. “Clint play me some Snoop Doggy Dogg. I wanna freestyle to some hip hop for my round.”

Clint gets up and attaches his phone to the speakers and presses play on some classic Doggy Style 90s rap. Snoop’s chillest, quiet, laid back flow is immediately drowned out by Deadpool laying in and free styling to it. He doesn’t play clean, he makes an impression and keeps up with Snoop’s already great rhythm. Then at the half way point of the song he signals Peter to start in.

Peter takes over the rhythm with grace. His classic 80s style playing is completely hidden behind this hip hop beat he has now. He is versatile, Deadpool notes, and his mind goes to places it isn’t allowed to go as he watches Peter quite literally BOP his way to the end of the song.

Clint, who has apparently taken over the judging, unplugs his phone from the speaker and says, “The Spider-Man wins for just surprising me. I didn’t know you had hip hop in your blood!”

“I can drum anything,” Peter says while giving Deadpool a sly side eye.

Natasha has already plugged her bass in but since there is no room on the stage thanks to the two drum kits, she sits on the table closest to the stage. Her amp static echoes through the room as she adjust her sound and Wanda leans in closer to get a better look.

Clint plops down on the table next to her while she explains her rules to Peter and Wade.

“I’m going to play a short baseline and you guys copy it. See if you can keep up,” she says. What she means is for them to interpret her melodic rhythm onto their drums.

She plays about 8 seconds and Deadpool copies it perfectly. She plays again for Peter and he copies it. Then she gives Deadpool a more complicated bit. He succeeds. Then she plays for Peter equally complicated but different than before. He nails it. They go back and forth like this, both drummers zeroed in on Natasha’s fingers as she bounces out the rhythm. Its not as exciting to watch as the first two challenges. It requires precision and focus.

So of course, Deadpool is the first to mess it up. His minds wanders, he wants to be exciting on stage and this is boring to watch. It’s impressive but not for anyone who enjoys things that are fun. He forfeits the competition with a shout.

“I hate this!” each word punctuated with a hit. Deadpool sits back in his seat and points to Peter with a single drum stick, “You win, but only because of how much I hate this.”

Wanda shouts in joy, “Yes! Pay up boys.”

She gives Natasha a telling smile and Deadpool knows they picked the tie breaker like this because he wouldn’t be disciplined enough of a drummer to complete it.

“Give us a celebratory victory lap around the skins, Peter!” Clint says as Deadpool stands up to sit on the edge of the stage and sulk in his loss.

Peter hits each one of his drums in rapid succession and finishes with a hand in the air. “Good show, Wade. Excellent work Natasha. Wanda, I expect a cut of the pool you just won. Tony, lighten up will you?”

Natasha tilts her head with a thank-me-later expression. Wanda throws Peter a twenty dollar bill which Peter snags from the air and quickly pockets.

Tony looks up from his phone and grunts, “I’m working here. Not messing around the rest of you. And when you are done, get down here. There a few things we need to get to tonight, like, I don’t know, work?” His sarcasm isn’t the funny kind of sarcasm that Deadpool is used to.

Peter appears next to Deadpool and sits on the stage next to him. Deadpool greets him with “You call me Wade even after I told you, I’m Deadpool.”

“I know that, I’ve seen Deadpool play like 30 times. You really like going by that name?” He says as he settles in next to him on the edge of the stage. Their legs dangle only a few inches from the ground.

“You mean, do I like Deadpool? Mysterious, expert, sexy motherfucker, freelancing drummer? Of course I do. The name is way cooler than Spider-Man. Plus Wade don’t get the music jobs or bring home the bacon. Deadpool does,” he says, lying about making money, telling the truth about the music.

“What does Wade do?” Peter asks, leaning a little more into Deadpool’s shoulder. His weight on Deadpool's shoulder matches the weight of the question.

It must be his preceding reputation that has Peter actually liking Deadpool right now, or maybe its because Peter just beat him and wants to brag, or that he has spend so little time around him that Peter doesn’t know that he hates him yet. Deadpool doesn’t really care, he just plays along. Whatever emotional backlash he might get from being tugged along by his heart strings by a hot rival drummer will be dealt with later. And besides, Wade is the one who handles all the inner emotions and Deadpool just has fun.

“I just have fun,” Deadpool replies, “speaking of which, we should hang out later!”

“Uh, sure. Why not?” Peter says.

Why not? Because Wade can’t be seen without the mask, he pays renting using dirty money, Peter won’t be interested once he gets to know him, he has never even seen his face, he does not know what Wade looks like, the list goes on.

But if Wade didn’t want to hang out with Peter he shouldn’t have walked up to him in the first place and baited him into spending time with him. He asked for this, so he goes for it even though he is really unsure.

“Great!” he says, “I’ve got a big, very small, apartment with a lot of drums that needed banged, and they aren’t the only thing that needs banging,” and that gets a blush out of Peter.

Peter gives him a cellphone number and Wade gives him an address. They agree that Monday night will be an excellent night for whatever they plan on doing and Deadpool leaves the venue with a promise to meet up then. Peter pushes himself off the stage to talk business with Tony. Deadpool loads his kit into the van and drives off without Weasel. Weasel will have to find his own way back to Wade’s apartment to steal back his van.

Wade knows he likes Peter, and it’s obvious that Peter likes Deadpool. The question is not if, but for how long. Wade has the uncanny power of ruining relationships at record speed.


	2. Wade Fucks Up, Peter Wants To Help

The next night Wade has free, and he has to find a way to pay rent. Being a barely successful musician brings in next to nothing. Doing small time mercenary jobs however, can make him enough money to eat with and pay rent. It would be cheaper to have a roommate but the only person who could tolerate living with him would have to be blind. Plus, with out the extra bedroom, where would his drum kit sleep?

He isn’t proud to do these kinds of jobs but he doesn’t really have another choice. The only person who knows that he does things like this is Weasel. Weasel tells him that “these are bad guys anyways, someone is going to get paid to take them down a notch, it might as well be you.” Honestly for Wade, if there were a big market for male prostitutes he would probably do that instead. Make love not war and all that. But someone as big and imposing as he is can get more jobs beating people up. So that is exactly what he is doing this evening.

He checks the card in his pocket again to confirm the address, and makes the last turn before he arrives at his target’s house.

Wade is wearing a hoodie and gloves as usual, but rather than his branded and well known mask, he is wearing a simple ball cap. He would wear the mask while carrying out jobs, but it brings too much attention and he can’t have the cops on his ass for looking suspicious. Plus, if anyone found out that the drummer Deadpool was beating people up for money he would never play anywhere again. His scars are pretty gruesome and they have the added effect of making him forgettable. People see his scars, not what he looks like. Anyone who he passes on the street could describe his skin, but not his face, so in a way he still has a mask. He just can’t take this one off.

He arrives at the next address and lets himself in through a window. Thirty minutes later, he has a camera roll full of the guy beat to shit to turn in for profit and a promise from the guy to not bother Whatsherface again. He takes the next card out of his pocket and heads toward that address. He picked all jobs that were within a few blocks of each other to make it easier on him.

It is never really dark in New York, there is enough light pollution to be seen from space, so even as he rounds the corner into an unlit street he can still see the man he means to merc leaving out the front door. Wade begins following the guy until he can get him cornered. He much prefers the close quarters of fighting a guy in his own house, or someone else’s house, but this alley will have to do.

At the end of the street he decides to make his move. The man reels at the heavy hand on his shoulder but Wade quickly pulls him into a submission move and holds him there. He tells him exactly what he plans to do, and how, and why.

“I’ve been hired to fuck you up. So shortly, I’m gonna make you bleed, then I’m gonna photograph your pathetic face, then I’m going to walk away,” he growls, then adds more cheerily, “that’s as hard as this has to be!”

The man, unable to talk due to his own t-shirt pulled taunt through his teeth like floss, only nods in response. The guy looks like he is about to cry, so Wade is confident he has control of the situation.

He releases the guy and swiftly kicks him to the ground and throws a three quick punches to his face, enough to make him bleed, as promised, then pulls out his camera to photograph his job well done. The man has yet to do more than whimper, maybe because Wade broke his jaw. Its so hard to tell in the darkened street.

Wade snaps the shot and it shows up only black. The flash isn’t on his tiny digital camera. He curses and finds the right button to turn it on.

“Geez, technology, you feel me? Can’t live with it, can’t live with out it,” he says to the guy who is still kneeling in the gutter, “I need the photos to prove I completed the job, you see.”

He flicks the flash on and takes the photo again, this time lighting up the entire end of the street.

“Ah, that’s the money shot!” Wade says, “Alright. Scurry along, scumbag. Remember, we hate repeat business, so if Juana calls on us again to take care of you, I will personally remove all of your teeth. Okay, buddy?”

“What’s going on?” 

Wade turns toward the voice coming from further up the street. They must have seen the camera flash. An upstanding, good samaritan type of dude by way he runs head first into danger like he is right now. Literally the guy is running right for him. Wade was not prepared to deal with witnesses today.

He doesn’t have time to run through all his options, he just prepares himself for another fight. That is, until he sees a flash of the guy’s face through the light spilling out from an open window.

This is easily the worst case scenario for Wade and he panics. Peter is about so witness him in all his disgusting glory, looming over a man he just beat up and with out his mask on. It’s dark enough here that Peter probably can’t tell its Wade, so he has to keep him at a distance.

“Wait! Don’t come any closer!” Wade begs and threatens, and Peter slows his run but still continues making his way down the street.

“Stop mugging that guy!” Peter calls back.

“I’m not mugging him, I’m just beating the shit out of him,” Wade corrects, hoping his intimidating words will be enough to keep Peter at a distance.

Unfortunately, this backfires.

“Wade? That cannot be you,” Peter says as he continues walking toward him, recognizing his voice.

“Stay away from me. What are you doing here? Seriously stay back,” Wade warns.

“You didn’t tell me you were a criminal,” Peter shouts at him, running his hands through his hair in some mix of distress and anger.

Wade can’t tell if he is close enough to see his face or not, so he pulls his ball cap and clarifies, “Actually, this is like a mercenary job. I gotta make money somehow.”

“Oh, you have got a lot of explaining to do,” Peter says.

“I— What?” Wade says, caught off guard. Since when does he answer to Peter?

“Come on, let’s go before someone arrests you for assault,” Peter commands.

Wade cannot believe the words coming from Peter’s mouth. He isn’t even scared, freaked out, or horrified. Yet. Wade is gifted at scaring people off and he throws his worst at Peter now.

“Let me introduce to Mr. Wade Wilson,” Wade says, spreading his arms out in a mocking curtsey. The bleeding man is still silently kneeling behind him.

“Wade, I’m serious. Let’s get to the avenue and get a cab,” Peter says as he steps back while motioning for Wade to follow.

Wade has to try harder so he says, “Come on Peter, don’t tell me you didn’t know how ugly I am, inside and out.”

Peter is still undeterred and he closes the gap between them. He grabs Wade by the sleeve and begins to drag him toward the avenue. Wade continues his comments.

“You act surprised, Peter! Tony didn’t tell you what a piece of shit I am? Surely he did.”

Peter drags him through a maze of side streets until they arrive at a busier avenue. At this Wade stops short. It’s much lighter on the street and if Peter hadn’t already caught a glimpse of Wade’s face, he will for sure here.

“What, you bring me here for?” Wade says, barely scraping out a coherent sentence.

“To get a cab and get out of here,” Peter reminds him, stepping out to the street to hail a cab.

Wade stays in the shadow of the alley, reluctant to step into well lit street. Peter opens the door to the cab and shouts back at Wade.

“Get in!”

Wade hesitates.

“Come on!” Peter urges.

Wade complies, but doesn’t know why. Not only will he have to face the consequences of his actions, but he will have to do it by Peter’s hand. Maybe Wade hates himself just enough to believe he deserves to be berated and humiliated by Peter. Maybe he would rather sever his relationship with Peter before it starts than be dragged along.

He gets in the cab. Peter tells the cabbie to take them a 24 hour restaurant about six blocks away. An odd choice to if he wants to scream at him. Peter tells him that this place is near his house. An odd thing to say to someone who you never want to see again.

Wade turns and looks at him, trying to get a read on what Peter’s deal is. Peter is staring back. Wade searches his face for his motivation, and all he finds is anger.

“You looked pissed, Peter,” Wade tells him, not bothering to filter his thoughts.

“Yeah, I’m pretty pissed. What on earth were you doing?” Peter says.

It occurs to Wade that he has no idea how Peter found him. “What the hell were you doing?”

“I wasn’t, those houses just— I was just, you know, walking by,” Peter says breaking eye contact.

Wade leans back into his seat and he slouches down until his knees fold up against the seat in front of him. He tilts his head to hide his face from Peter behind his baseball cap. He doesn’t care how childish this is because Peter did not even try with that lie. If Peter is going to act like a toddler so is Wade. A big toddler who beats people up for money is still better than a liar.

Peter might have some sort of plan in place to help him out, steer him straight. Wade doesn’t know what is going to happen but he knows how it is going to end.

“This isn’t going to work,” Wade says, then he adds, “Aw, dammit. I was trying to give you the silent treatment for that stupid lie you just told me.”

“What’s not going to work?” Peter asks, ignoring to comment about his lie.

“Whatever kind of intervention you are about to stage,” Wade says from behind his hat, “will never worked on someone as fucked up as me. I know, I’ve tried it all.”

“We are here. I need a coffee,” Peter says and hands the cabbie the money and steps out onto the sidewalk.

Wade scoots across the row of seats and takes in the street. It is nearly empty at this time of night but a diner with a neon sign is still open. As Wade steps out of the cab it takes off, leaving the street empty. The bell on the door jingles as Peter opens the door and motions for Wade to enter. Everything feels like its moving so slow and Wade steps into the diner and immediately slides into a booth.

Peter sits across from him and orders a coffee from the waitress who remains behind the counter. She nods and brings him two empty mugs and leaves the pot of coffee.

“You think you can tell me what to do, Peter,” Wade starts, “That you can swoop in and convince me to straighten out? That I can flip the switch and go clean?”

“Yeah, I like to think that I can help anyone,” Peter says confidently.

“Who the fuck died and made you a hero?” Wade snorts.

Peter flinches at this but recovers and says, “I am an AA sponsor. Sunday nights. I help people who can’t be helped. I can help you too.”

“This is a little different than a drinking problem, Peter,” Wade says.

“I know, I’m not trying to counsel you or fix you or whatever. The AA steps wouldn’t work with whatever you were doing beating up that guy. I’m just telling you, I’ve seen the worst, I’ve heard the worst. I can help you as a friend,” Peter looks him square in the eye. He was lying earlier about just passing by the street Wade was on. He isn’t lying now.

“You seen it, heard it, you tried living it?” Wade asks.

“I’ve been through my fair share of shit,” Peter says.

“I learned to drum when I was in Mexico City. That’s the only good thing I ever learned. That, and how to punch. Hard,” Wade says.

Peter doesn’t challenge him, he encourages him, “Where did you learn to punch?”

“I special forces for a long time and you don’t get dishonorably discharged without learning how to throw a punch,” Wade says. Peter must have been expecting the typical school yard bully, growing up with older brothers answers because he tightens his lips.

“Who in Mexico taught you how to drum,” Peter asks, obviously looking for a more positive topic to relate to.

“A guy named Massacre. The name is misleading though, he is a catholic priest down there. Jack of all trades, really,” Wade says.

Peter says, “He sounds well rounded. My uncle taught me to drum. I was an angry kid when my parents died and drumming helped. I was even angrier when my uncle died too.”

Wade makes eye contact and reads the hurt in his eyes. Peter is just a bleeding heart. He has done this whole redemption arc before. Wade takes a deep breath and tries to decide how best to tell Peter to not try this. Obviously Peter wants to get him on the straight and narrow and he needs to know just how impossible that is.

“Look, I know you want to meet me eye to eye here, heart to heart, whatever. I don’t think you get just what kind of fucked up you are dealing with here,” Wade says pointing to his chest. He really is just waiting for Peter to ask about the scars.

“Why the hell did you ask me out if you were gonna act like this?” Peter accuses.

He has a point though. Well, not a point, but he asks a just question. Why, if the second Peter tries to be a good influence does Wade make it so hard?

“I didn’t ask you out because I’m a good guy, I asked you out because you are,” Wade tells him.

“What does that mean?” Peter asks.

“I know you help people. I already knew that. I fucking admire that,” Wade admits.

Peter leans over the booth and says, “You already knew who I was, huh?”

“Of course I do. We both play the drums in the same music scene. It’s impossible not to know who you are and to know you are probably the greatest person in that damn scene,” Wade says and leans back away from Peter.

“And what, me liking you was like a test? To see if you could trick me into thinking you are better than you are?” Peter asks.

“No, it wasn’t. I just thought, if I could spend just a little time with you, maybe I could shape up,” Wade says, looking away. He still is waiting for Peter to asks about his scars.

Wade continues, “Figured if I could hang around you as Deadpool, I could convince Wade Wilson to toughen up. But I didn’t want people to know. I don’t want them to know about what I do.”

“I agree,” Peter says as he sips his drink, then clarifies, “I think spending time together could help you shape up. I’m willing to do it, but not as your sponsor or anything, just as a friend.”

Wade looks him over. His jacket is slightly too short for his long arms and his jaw is set, he looks determined. He looks patient and hopeful. Which leaves Wade only two options. He can either crushes his hopes now by refusing the offer, or crush them later when he inevitably fails. Since no one procrastinates like Wade does, he decides to disappoint him later.

“Fine. I’m game. I want to change, I don’t want to do the things I do, I didn’t even when I started. If you think you can help me, who am I to stop you,” Wade agrees. 

Wade doesn’t smile, he doesn’t blink. He just looks at Peter, gives him a heavy stare that he hopes can communicate to Peter what words cannot. Whatever he hopes, Peter is definitely out-hoping him right now. Because Peter’s returning gaze carries much more weight.

“Good. See you tomorrow night, as planned,” Peter says to lighten the mood.

“I’ll put out my fine china for us,” Wade replies, trying his best to be cheery.

They part ways on the street. Peter doesn’t tell Wade that the reason he found him was because he was already out patrolling the neighborhoods after the AA meeting. Wade doesn’t tell Peter that he still plans on cashing in on his jobs tonight.


	3. Is it a Date of is it a Friend Date?

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Wade is nervous for Peter to come over as planned because of what happened yesterday night, and it goes a lot smoother than he expects. Probably because Peter is the best person ever.

It’s Monday night, Peter is coming over. What was supposed to be a cool first date, first drum session together, first chance to hang out has turned into something different and so much more. So much worse. Peter wants to swoop in and change Wade’s life for the better. What is it all for?

Wade doesn’t know how many people he has hurt. It’s been so many people over so many years. He has never said to himself “today is the day I become a good person” because he doesn’t even know what that means. He makes people laugh, he makes music, he performs and he has fun. How bad could he be? How many hospital bills is he responsible for? He doesn’t know.

He looks at his mask. He shouldn’t wear it, it would be weird to wear it. If he talked to Peter yesterday without the mask on, he could do it again. He can do this. Maybe Peter isn’t in this to turn him into a project, maybe he actually just wants to be friends. That would be easiest for Wade.

He can’t determine the source of his anxiety over this. He has been caught, but not punished yet so he is worried about that. Is he into Peter that much he has been reduced to pacing the floor and talking to himself? He has been talking out loud to himself this whole time.

“Oh, like you’ve never tried to talk something through with yourself?” Wade says to no one.

“Thats what I thought,” he says.

“Where was I,” he says, then continues, “Is it Peter that has got me all bunched up? Or is it what Peter wants to try to do? Or is it the prospect of a real intimate relationship? Okay, cut the shit. It’s definitely what Peter wants to talk about.

“But I can’t just stop my only source of income. Drumming don’t pay for shit. If I don’t work as hired muscle I won’t have any money. He can’t just come in here and expect me to quit. I gotta pay the bills, man.

“Would he still like me if he knows that? I’ve dated a prostitute before and we were perfectly happy. I didn’t ask her to change anything for me. Then again, that relationship didn’t work out. At all.

“Man, I hope Peter likes me. Something, anything. I’m a good friend, loyal to a fault, and, well, that’s it. A good boyfriend too, for the same reasons. I’ve seen Peter around, I know he does charity work all the goddamn time. I know that Clint thinks he is good person. I know he makes his money doing session drumming for B-list hip hop artists.

“Am I good enough to be a session drummer? If they tell me what to play I won’t be but if they ask me to make it up I could do that. Could I? Fuck it. I have no future and I am not doing this. I’m gonna call him and tell him not to come.”

This revelation comes too late as a knock at the door signals Peter’s arrival.

Wade shuffles to the door and swings it open with little hesitation. Peter smiles at him and suddenly nothing is wrong.

“Hey! Come on in, I’ll give the grand tour of Casa del Deadpool.”

Wade shows Peter all the rooms of his modest apartment. One bedroom has been sound proofed and has his drum kit, his converted music room. He stapled egg cartons to the wall to along with actual sound proofing material. A messy job, but effective. The other room is his bedroom, and then the biggest room is the kitchen and common room combo. Wade stands in the middle of the room and waits for Peter to take it all in. And to start preaching to him about how to change his ways.

“This is your rodeo, baby boy,” Wade says, giving him the opportunity to begin lecturing him.

“Show me your kit,” Peter suggests.

Wade busily tells Peter about each of the pieces of his drum kit. He tells him how he traded an old TV to afford the kick drum. He shows off the Hello Kitty duct tape he used to reinforce the dented face. He picks up a sharpie and hands it to Peter.

“Come on, draw something on it!” Wade encourages.

“Is there even any space? How often do you doodle on your drum set?” Peter asks as he leans over the drum to find a blank space, as Wade may or may not be drooling over his beautiful butt.

“I crave self expression, Peter. It is the artist’s way,” Wade says as he admires Peter’s small drawing of a smiling and waving stick figure person.

“In between two giant dick drawings. Where he belongs,” Peter says, satisfied at his work.

Wade bursts out laughing and then finishes telling him about all the pieces in his mismatched and well worn drum kit. After he gives the entire biography of each drum, he suggests they listen to the stereo with a small selection CDs Wade has. Peter looks through the CDs strewn across the floor. Peter still has traces of black eyeliner under his eyes from his performance the other day.

“Over half of these are the Spice Girls. I didn’t even know they made this much music. You like Scary Spice best or Sporty Spice?” Peter asks, raising an eyebrow.

“Good pop music is good pop music, man, don’t judge. But I’m keeping those for my friend, Tony, while he’s in prison. I barely listen to them myself, but some of those are Tony’s prized possessions,” Wade says, giving Peter another opening to lecture him about associating with bad influences and staying out of prison or the other thousand consequences of his high risk life style. Instead Peter just moves on.

“Taskmaster? Your bandmate?” he asks, reading the name scribbled on the inside of the CD case. “Well, wouldn’t want to bust a CD you don’t own. Oh,” Peter says as he pulls out the Rent Cast CD, “My god, I haven’t listened to this in years. Let’s do this one.”

Wade pops it into the stereo and presses play. “I always pegged you for a theatre kid.”

The nostalgia is better than the music, as it always is and Wade takes to lying face up on the floor trying not to lament on his own rent and Peter sits behind the drum kit and plays lazily along with the music.

“This is bumming me out,” Wade says.

“I forgot how real this is,” Peter says, agreeing and stepping up to turn it off.

“You know, I’m waiting for the other shoe to drop, Peter,” Wade says, still lying on his back. Peter said he wants to help get him on the right path, so when is he going to yell at him or punish him or whatever other methods of intervention there are?

Peter clicks the stereo off and turns back to Wade, “Did I not make it clear I want us to be friends?”

Wade admires how hard Peter tries. That was the last thing Wade expected Peter to say, and somehow the perfect thing to say.

“Let’s play video games then,” Wade says and Peter smiles.

The rest of the night Wade forgets about trying to change his life. Peter doesn’t ask him to, they just keep each other entertained and the mood is light. Wade was expecting a walking self help book Peter, which in all honesty he could use, but instead he just gets a slightly nerdy, understanding Peter. If Peter wasn’t here to keep him occupied he probably would have gotten in some more trouble tonight. Nearly every night that he doesn’t play music he takes mercenary jobs, but if he is hanging Peter then he can’t do those bad things.

“Oh, that’s it,” Wade comments. Peter is engrossed in the action on screen so he doesn’t realize that Wade is connecting ulterior motives to Peter spending this time with him. He might be reading too much into it, but he keeps that idea in the back of his mind. When it gets late Peter asks

“Can you walk me home?”

“Sure,” Wade says and grabs his jacket.

Peter’s apartment is a few blocks over from Wade’s. It’s longer than Wade would like to walk, but he will just get a cab back home.

Wade texts Peter from his bedroom that he is back home and Peter replies quickly with a proposition for grabbing dinner later this week and a good night. Wade goes to sleep excited for tomorrow.

Isn’t that a strange feeling. The beginnings of a relationship are always the best for Wade, but the end is never too far away.

++++———++++

Two weeks and three friend-dates with Peter later, the rent is due. Wade hasn’t taken a merc job since when Peter found him. Back at the usual venue, he knows his band didn’t bring in a big enough crowd tonight to pay the bills. Honestly, the venue isn’t big enough to hold enough people to pay the bills.

“Peter, you ready for some real life?” Wade asks sitting in a plastic seat, the venue empty of everyone but the usual performers.

“What is it, Mr. Pool?” Peter says, still elated from his post-show high.

“You ready to hear about some real life crap?” Wade asks again, leaning over the table so Peter can hear him better. He doesn’t want to talk too loud so the others hear, and Peter can’t read his lips or anything with his mask on.

“Lay it on me,” Peter says.

“I gotta pay rent,” Wade says.

“Me too. And?”

“My only real money came from, you know,” Wade says, “and unless something truly magical happens my band will never make any money.”

“Come here, tell me about,” Peter says.

Wade sits next to Peter at the table and drapes his arm across Peter’s chair. Clint and Tony are sitting on stage now, playing out the intro to a new song over and over again, trying to get it perfect. With the background noise, Wade hopes nobody else can hear him. Wade tells Peter how once he left the military, he just wandered around and took odd jobs wherever he was. Wade explains how he hasn’t had a real job since he left the military.

“Do you get benefits from the army?” Peter asks.

“If I ever told them where I went I probably would,” Wade replies, lying. He was dishonorably discharged. The army won't give him a pot to piss in.

“Do you have a resume?” Peter asks.

“If I had anything useful to put on it, I probably would,” Wade replies.

“Maybe you should start with those,” Peter says. He stands up out of his chair and looks down at Wade and continues, “As much as I want you to stay here, the band doesn’t want anyone hearing the new songs unless you are working on them,” Peter says, looking back at the stage and his drum kit waiting for him. Natasha waves good bye as she leaves out the back door as well.

“A shame, because I love to watch you drum, baby boy,” Wade teases as he jumps out his chair and heads to the door.

“Uh, thanks?” Peter calls back.

Wade could just kiss Peter good bye with that confused and blushing expression he has right now. Since he is wearing his mask he doesn’t, among other reasons. The first biggest reason being that he has no idea if Peter reciprocate's his feelings. But Wade can deal those emotions, later. And by later, he means never. Easier this way.

Wade can’t help but be jealous at how successful Peter is for a small time musician. Wade’s band, like all unknown bands, doesn’t make any money. Technically they get paid for the gigs they do, but all that money goes back into the band with no profit for them. Peter on the other hand has turned music into a living. If Wade could manage that, all his problems would be solved.

As he skips out the back door Weasel follows close behind, being sure not to be left behind at the venue this time.

“Wade, you asshole, I’m driving,” Weasel says.

As they climb into the van full of their entire band’s equipment, Weasel hands Wade three more cards with names, faces, and addresses of a few boys who have hits out on them. Weasel wordlessly passes Wade his next mercenary job.

“Do you think I could do other things to make money?” Wade asks.

Weasel glances at him and then back to road, “What, really?”

“Yeah, really,” Wade says, flipping the cards over his hand.

“You probably should have thought about that before you dropped out of high school and never went to college,” Weasel says, shrugging his shoulders.

“Did you go to college?” Wade challenges, already knowing the answer.

“Yeah, and it didn’t help. I still am in the same shit business you are,” Weasel says, his hands tightening around the steering wheel.

Wade flips the cards back over in his hand and stares down at them. Moral dilemmas are so overrated.

++++++—————++++++

“Are you going to make rent this month?” Peter asks, adjusting the Wiimote in his hands and leaning back into the couch.

“You don’t have to worry, Petey,” Wade says, “Come here and kiss me and all my problems will disappear.”

“No, I won’t. And no, they won’t,” Peter says. He shifts his position on Wade’s couch so that his legs hang over Wade. Wade misses the next three objectives on screen as a result, giving Peter the advantage in the game.

“Dammit!” Wade says, but he doesn’t dare ask Peter to move positions.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Weasel is a bad influence. Peter is a good influence. Who will win out?


	4. Weasel is involved, Wade gets left alone for too long

The next month. At the venue.

“Are you going to make rent this month?” Peter asks leaning far into the table so Wade can hear him over the crowd.

“Yep!” Wade says cheerily, throwing a thumbs up in case Peter can’t hear him over the music.

Peter’s face drops. He tilts his head and engages himself back in the music. Wade’s face drops in response.

He has a really hard time when people ignore him and act mad at him. Well, he only has a problem with being ignored. He plays for Peter’s attention.

“What’s on your mind, Petey pie?” Wade asks, adjusting his mask with both hands.

“Two things. The first is that maybe you are lying. The second is that if you aren’t lying, where did you get the rent money?” Peter asks, his eyes tighten as his mouth opens in disapproval.

Wade has no answer for Peter. They both know damn well where Wade got his rent money.

Peter’s eyes snap to Deadpool’s masked eyes and he says, “I don’t like drumming when I’m mad. And this really pisses me off. When this gig tonight is over, we talk.”

Wade’s mouth hangs open. He closes it, only to make a bigger show about going slack jawed again.

“Ex-squeeze me?” Wade asks, “You want to tell me— Oh, that is rich.”

“Save it for later, Wade. I’ve got work to do,” Peter says as he gets up and walks to the stage.

Wade finds Weasel, grabs him by the collar and drags him out the back door into the parking lot. Then Wade starts beating a garbage can with another garbage. Weasel stands by, unfazed.

“You brought me out here to show me how much these trash cans hate each other?” Weasel asks, unimpressed by the display of violence.

“Yeah, it’s a metaphor,” Wade yells. He tugs off his mask and throws it on the ground. It lands with an unsatisfying thud, so Wade throws the garbage on top it.

“If that’s all, I’m gonna go back in—“ Weasel begins.

“I’m not playing this gig! Two months! We've been hanging out all the time! And Peter thinks he can be mad at me for having a paying job?” Wade says as he sits down on top of his garbage can.

“See, this is why I didn’t want to start a band with you. We have to play this gig,” Weasel says. “You let Parker bother you too much. Don’t bail on me, man.”

“I don’t know what Peter expects of me!” Wade says. He sets up the other garbage can and pats it, signaling for Weasel to sit next him on top of the pile of garbage.

Weasel gingerly steps through the trash and joins him on the pile. “He doesn’t want you to work as a mercenary anymore, right?”

“I don’t know what he wants! We just hang out. And when we hang out, he doesn’t tell me the kind of person I should be. I don’t know what to do!” Wade says.

“Yeah. You should probably just go back to being my friend instead,” Weasel says unhelpfully.

“What do you think I’m doing?” Wade asks raising an eyebrow at Weasel. Wade appreciates how little his antics effect Weasel now. Peter gets mad when Wade does things wrong. Weasel doesn’t care.

“Maybe Peter doesn’t want to become your moral compass,” Weasel suggests.

“How do you mean?” Wade asks.

“He probably wants you to make the right choice on your own. If he forces you to do it, then it isn’t really progress,” Weasel continues. “At least, to him it isn’t. I know you though, Wade. I know teabag morality in the face. If you did something good, even at gunpoint, I would still be impressed.”

“I do not—I have morals,” Wade insists.

“Yeah, and my glasses look great on me,” Weasel scoffs as he pushes his massive glasses up his nose.

“Well, if I don’t have morals, and Peter won’t be my moral compass, then what the hell am I supposed to do?” Wade laments. He produces a pair of drumsticks out of no where and drums anxiously on the trash can.

“Give up, I guess,” Weasel says.

Wade gives him a side eye, “Wade Wilson is not a quitter.”

“Then play with me tonight,” Weasel says as he stands up, “And get your mask out of the garbage before it starts to smell.”

Wade dumps the cans over again and fishes his mask out from under the trash. He waves it around in the air to fling off any excess material on it. He can’t tell if Weasel told him all that just to manipulate him into actually playing tonight or if he was actually trying to help him. Either way he isn’t as angry.

~~

The set goes well, as it normally goes for Wade and Weasel. Their band is a little underwhelming since Tasky got sent to prison and it is just Weasel and Deadpool on stage now. They still are entertaining and do a good job as an opening act.

Wade and Weasel work together to put the equipment back in the van after the set. Weasel glances at the mess Wade made earlier.

“You know, Wade, it just occurred to me that must be Peter more than a friend,” Weasel says he slams the back doors to the van closed and sits on the bumper.

“I’m curious about what makes you think that, but I also don’t want to go there,” Wade says.

“Well, the temper tantrum is a dead give away now, looking back on it,” he says.

“That doesn’t make sense,” Wade says.

“With you, yes it does. And you obviously want his approval,” Weasel continues.

“And I don’t want to go there,” Wade warns.

Weasel looks at Wade right in his masked eyes and says, “I feel like this brought us closer.”

“Fuck you, Weasel.”

“Yeah. Closer than ever.”

Weasel gets up and climbs in the van to drive home. He motions for Wade to come with him.

“I have to talk to Peter,” Wade tells Weasel.

“Go get him, Tiger,” Weasel says as he drives away, leaving Wade alone with his big pile of garbage in the parking lot. Wade turns to go back into the venue.

=

Peter’s band, the last band to play tonight, is in the middle of their set. Wade has to decide between waiting outside on the pile of garbage or waiting inside and talking to people.

He brushes off the top of the garbage can sits down on it, taking out his drum sticks to tap away to pass the time. He likes watching Peter drum, that would be more enjoyable than this empty parking lot but seeing Peter in there now makes his heart jump around in ways he isn’t prepared to deal with.

The parking lot, however is not totally empty. There is still one van parked out here.

=

Peter walks out the back door of the venue two hours later carrying his kick drum and he nearly drops it when he sees the state of the van.

“Uh, guys? Something happened,” Peter calls back into the venue.

Clint gets to the door first and smiles wide, mostly in disbelief at the chaos.

The van the band uses, Tony’s van, has been meticulously covered in garbage. Every surface area capable of having garbage put on it has garbage on it.

“Damn. Tony, you piss anyone off lately?” Clint asks.

Peter nearly drops his kick drum again. Clint side eyes him, catching wind of his guilt.

“Oh, Peter? You piss anyone off lately?” he asks with a more serious tone.

Tony joins them in the parking lot and stares at his van. He takes a deep breath and lets it out. He shakes his head and takes in another deep breath. “Nope, it’s not working. I’m still pissed.”

“I’m sorry, Tony. I didn’t think he would react like child,” Peter says adjusting his grip on his drum.

“React? You mean you made him do this?” Tony asks.

“Who was it?” Wanda interjects, just catching up with the conversation.

“It was Deadpool,” Clint says.

Tony presses his hands into his eyes, “I’ll deal with the van, then I’ll deal with Deadpool.”

“No, I’ll deal with him,” Peter says.

“Oh, are you going to deal with him? Or are you going to babysit him some more?” Tony asks.

Peter pauses, unsure how to answer that. “Both, hopefully,” he settles with.

“Good answer,” Wanda says as she walks back inside. She emerges in less than a minute with a bucket full of water. She walks up to the windshield and dumps the bucket onto it, washing away the garbage on the glass just enough to see inside.

Tony presses his palms into his eyes again and walks silently back inside. Wanda drops the bucket and follows him.

“You are on your own here, kid,” Clint pats him on the back and closes the door behind him.

In the driver’s seat of the van is Wade. He gives a small wave from inside the car.

Peter motions for Wade to exit the vehicle. Wade shakes his head no. Peter stares back in disbelief. He doesn’t want to touch the door handle, so he motions again for Wade to open the door. Wade lifts up his mask so Peter can read his lips. Peter still doesn’t know what he is saying. 

Finally Wade opens the door and says, “It smells bad out there.”

“Yep! Yeah, it does! Because you were playing in garbage,” Peter says.

Wade groans and gets out of the van. He stands and stretches and says, “I was bored.”

“Why did you break into Tony’s van?” Peter asks.

“So I could sleep in it, duh,” Wade says as he stretches.

“Why did you put garbage all over it?” Peter asks.

“Same reason,” Wade replies, as if that should have been obvious.

Peter stares at him. Then at the bucket on the ground. Then back at Wade.

In fifteen disgusting minutes, the van is clean. Peter smells disgusting now, and Wade already smelled that way.

With the van dealt with, Wade is next on the list. Peter insists to Wade that they have this conversation somewhere besides the garbage strewn parking lot, so they get a cab to Wade’s apartment.


	5. Ending

Wade scoots into the cab first and Peter follows. Wade sets his jaw and leans back into his seat.

Peter gives the address for Wade’s apartment to the cab driver while Wade makes strong eye contact with the back of the seat in front of him and hums angrily to himself.

“What’s your problem, Peter,” Wade asks. He is never afraid to play with fire, and right now, Peter is fire.

“My problem? I should ask you the same thing. You trashed Tony’s car,” he says angrily.

“Yep,” Wade responds, popping the “p” sound in annoyance.

“I didn’t want this relationship to be built on me telling you what to do. I’ve been waiting for you to take the initiative,” Peter says.

Wade watches the lights tick by through the window. He says, “What relationship?”

“I, um, well,” Peter trails off.

“No really, tell me what you want,” Wade says, firmer.

“From the start, I wanted you. But when I found out what you did for money, I knew I couldn’t have you unless things changed,” Peter says, searching the side of Wade’s face for eye contact.

Wade winces at the remark. Nothing about it was hurtful. He doesn’t know how to tell Peter the dozens of things that he needs to know.

Peter takes Wade’s hand and pulls it into the seat between them. He just squeezes it and looks out his own window.

The cab pulls up to Wade’s apartment and Peter pays the cab driver. They both get out and Wade stares Peter down on the side walk.

“We have to do this here,” Wade says holding his hands out at the parking lot.

“I know, let’s go inside,” Peter says.

“That isn’t my apartment anymore,” Wade says.

Peter freezes for a second then moves and then freezes again. Wade stands and watches the realization spread across Peter’s face. Peter knows, but he still has to ask.

He starts, “Anymore? Did you? Did you lose your apartment for not paying the rent?”

Wade shifts his weight and says, “I don’t have much stuff. It’s all over at Weasel’s place right now.”

“You mean you haven’t taken a job in a month?” Peter asks, still unsure of what this means.

“I didn’t want to tell you. I just wanted it to be a reality before I told you, like we could start over from there,” Wade says. He looks to his apartment that he no longer lives in and then back to Peter and adds, “but reality fucking sucks a bag of fiery—“

“Wade, did you do this because I asked you?” Peter interrupts.

“Well, not because of you, but I did it for you,” Wade says.

Peter closes the distance between them and closes their lips together. Wade wraps his arms around Peter and melts into the kiss. He doesn’t know why Peter is kissing him but in the moment he couldn’t care less.

Peter breaks the kiss and looks at him and says, “I’ve been waiting so long to do that.”

“You find homeless guys hotter than criminal guys?” Wade teases.

“Morally, I couldn’t date someone who was an active criminal. But morally its not like I could ask you to change for me either,” Peter says, then adds, “You had my back against the wall from day one.”

“You seemed pretty mad when you thought I hadn’t made any changes, but I am and I’m trying,” Wade says.

“No, I know that. I’m just impatient is all,” Peter smiles back.

Wade kisses Peter this time and when he breaks it Peter says, “Let’s go back to my place then.”

“Oh, Peter, you must know I don’t put out on a first date,” Wade says, fanning himself with his mask like a respectable woman attending the Kentucky derby.

Peter grabs his waving and pulls him along beside him down the sidewalk.

“We have been on, probably 30 dates by now, Wade,” Peter says, and he sounds like he means business.

Wade gasps at the implications and covers him mouth and says, “We have to make up for lost time.”

“Time wasn’t lost, Wade. We’ve been hanging out almost daily for two months,” Peter clarifies.

“Yeah, but now, we get to butter the buns. Enter stage left. Roll like thunder,” Wade says.

Peter cuts him off before he can make up another euphemism for sex, “Trust me, it’ll be worth the wait.”

Wade knows it will be. He can’t even remember a time when he wasn’t waiting, not for someone like Peter, but for Peter.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> thanks so much for reading! if this feels rushed thats because it is, things came up. i decided that i had to just to tie up the loose ends of this fic. it deserves a more developed ending but oh well. hope you enjoyed!


End file.
